


Case 163: The Adventure Of The Flaxen Saxon (1899)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [210]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attempted Murder, Corruption, Deception, Destiel - Freeform, Double Penetration, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Gay Sex, Guns, Harnesses, Injury, Ireland, Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, Justice, London, M/M, Multi, Panties, Politics, Prostitution, Threats of Violence, Threesome - M/M/M, Trains, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-22 20:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17669099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Inspector Chatton Smith, the lover of Inspector Macdonald, comes to London to see Sherlock and John over a noble cousin who is in fear of his life. Politics and intrigue combine in a case which ends with someone getting double what they wanted and someone else getting an aching wrist and repeated nightmares.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelodyofWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyofWings/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

John and I were asked many questions about our cases, quite a few of them frankly unrepeatable. When it came to which case gave me the most pleasure there were several contenders but this one had an outcome which made us both supremely happy, even if it did cause political repercussions for some time afterwards. But as a certain annoying brother of mine who features strongly in this tale so often says, one cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs. Or in this case, the careers of certain government functionaries who presumably bathe in cologne of a morning before leading classes on how to be doubly irritating.

Our landlady Mrs. Singer was as I have said a most formidable lady, but she knew several of our acquaintances as 'acceptable', (i.e. unlike Bacchus they did not merit the appearance of the rifle). So when we received a card at the ungodly hour of twenty to nine one morning, I knew before reading it that it had to be someone that we knew well.

“It is our Cumberland friend, Inspector Smith”, I yawned, smiling as John formed me over two of his slices of bacon.

“Without his friend?” John grinned. “Inspector Macdonald has let him off his leash?”

“I wonder what brings him to London?” I mused as I forked a very miserly six extra rashers of bacon onto my plate and someone had better not comment on that again or there would be Consequences later. “You had better ring to send him up in fifteen minutes, after we have eaten.”

He crossed the room so to do although he did not miss that I added a further two rashers to my plate. What? I was hungry!

֍

The retired Inspector Macdonald's Red Indian lover – seriously, at times our adventures sounded almost as if my mother was writing them, a terrible thought indeed! - Mr. Chatton Smith had recently gained an unexpected promotion to inspector, when he had broken a key smuggling ring that had made the mistake of trying to operate through his native Allonby. A vanacy at inspector level had arisen less than a month later and, although he did not quite have the number of years service as sergeant required he was promoted anyway. I knew that a large part of that move had been because of the high regard he had been held in by policemen across his area, even if they did occasionally snigger at his dreadful states some mornings (particularly Mondays).

There was one surprise when what was left of Cumberland's newest inspector limped into our rooms and sat carefully down in the fireside chair. He was not alone – and instead of his lover almost falling over him as he always did when he was here, we both recognized the fellow that he had with him. Lord Cholmondeley Fortescue, known to the social pages that John hardly ever even glanced at at all as the Flaxen Saxon and a young gentleman whose recent move to Lancashire had doubtless been mourned by many a society matron with marriageable daughters. And from both what our good friend Mr. Godfreyson said, quite a few gentlemen too.

*No Mr. Macdonald?” I asked our friend.

“Fray is with Little Fray”, he smiled. 

Mr. Fraser Macdonald's adopted sons and his grandson had I knew settled into life in Maryport very well, helped by the fact that a local councillor had been very vocal in his disapproval of their arrival. Fortunately said councillor's elderly aunt thought (correctly) that her nephew was a complete idiot and was as a result prepared to look after young Fraser while the boys were at work or.... well, otherwise engaged. And all they had to do in return was carry out some of her housework for her. 

Naked. Sometimes the veneer of Victorian respectibility was a thin one.

“You are not with him?” I asked, surprised. I knew how fiercely possessive the older man was of our friend, to the point that he did not even like John tending to him. His adopted sons were the only ones allowed anywhere near his lover.

Inspector Smith looked uneasily at us both.

“It is about Chummy here”, he said. “My cousin.”

We were both astonished, to say the least.

“It is an English version of a Sioux name, like Chatton'”, the other man explained. “From a word meaning dewdrops.”

The Flaxen Saxon was about my height but had a supremely impressive muscular build, so clearly he had had parents blessed with a singular lack of foresight. Then again I had mentioned to John one time how attractive the fellow was and he had not taken it at all well. Though he had taken me well enough soon after! I smiled at the happy memory.

“Unfortunately there was an estrangement between our families when my father's cousin Augusta married the current Earl of Cholmondeley”, the inspector said. “He is as you know a Catholic so Chummy and I only made contact when he moved to Liverpool in Lancashire, a couple of train rides away. But something rather unfortunate has happened and it needs urgent action, or I fear that he may be killed.”

I turned to the young lord.

“Go on”, I said.

“My father's estate is as you may know close by the town of Gainsborough in Lincolnshire”, the young lord said. “I never really took to London when I came here so I looked for a job somewhere; as a fifth son I knew my chances of inheriting the title were low although I was well provided for. I found a job working as a manager at one of two coal-mines that my father owned just outside Liverpool and settled there.”

“There was an Irishman working at the mines, Patrick O'Reilly and the other managers there did not like him at all, especially as he was a trades union organizer. They tried to get him sacked one time but I managed to prevent it, although I had to have him moved to the other mine. I also set up rooms for him because he wanted his brother Peter to come over from Ireland to join him. They..... were very grateful.”

He blushed deeply. I knew that it was one of the darker sides of Victorian society that some men of our persuasion would use their social rank to take advantage of those lower down the social scale, including servants. But from what I knew of our visitor's reputation I was sure he would never have done such a thing if the gentlemen involved had not been willing.

“I set them up working for a decent molly-house in Liverpool” the lord said. “They are both attractive young men. And Chas here was helpful over that; his Mr. Godfreyson knew someone in the town. But unfortunately this particular good deed went and backfired on me big time.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Peter had worked as a constable in Kingsport, near Dublin”, he said. “They were not pleased when he said he was leaving to go to England and withheld his last pay-check, so he grabbed a ton of folders in the station and took them with him. Only a couple of days after he joined Patrick and we.... you know, they both came to me looking horrified. One of the folders contained information about the Kingsport Mining Corporation!”

I had read – all right, John had read to me about that torrid affair, a business collapse which had thrown several hundred miners out of a job and had further inflamed the Irish Situation which was bad enough as it was. The government had under pressure from the newspapers ceded a parliamentary committee to look into the affair.

“Surely he could have just returned it?” John asked. The inspector shook his head.

“You may have read speculation in the newspapers that some very important people were involved in financing that business”, Lord Fortescue said, “and that certain what they call sharp practices were involved. Peter's folder listed every single one of them, with solid evidence of their wrongdoing! And there is worse, Mr. Holmes – the thing that made me quit Lancashire and hurry to Chas in Cumberland. A fellow from Peter's old station sent him a letter warning him that someone from London had come all the way to Dublin to ask questions about that lost folder - a Mr. Bacchus Holmes!”

Oh. That _was_ bad, to have dragged Bacchus all the way from his beloved London. 

“I am going to take Chummy to Sweyn's new molly-house in Soho”, the inspector said. He looked askance at his cousin before continuing: “although I have a feeling that that will be rather akin to letting the fox into the hen-house.”

“I am sure that I can find _some_ way of passing the time”, Lord Fortescue said evenly, although there was a twinkle in his green eyes as he said it. 

“What about the brothers?” I asked.

“I had them send a note to their lodgings that they were moving on to London”, he said. “Do you think that you can help?”

He gave me a most lascivious look which earned him an angry growl from someone nearby.

“I did not know that Mr. Godfreyson had opened a house in Soho”, I said, not at all smirking at someone's reaction to our handsome visitor.

“He purchased it only the other week when the one in Tottenham Court Road fell through”, the inspector said. “This is the address.”

He took a card from his pocket and reached over to hand it to me, then winced in pain.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Harness”, he muttered, blushing bright red. “Fray insists on me wearing it when I leave him for any length of time.”

Oh yes, the new combination lock leather harness and chastity belt available in three colours from 'The House of Eros' just down the road. John had one too for those special occasions that I marked from time to time. Which reminded me; St. Achillius' Day was coming up soon – like something else!

֍

I bade goodbye (and good luck!) to our visitors and sent out to Miss Charlotta Bradbury for whatever information she could find on this matter. I then returned to John upon whom no attentions were ever wasted.

֍


	2. Chapter 2

Later that day we had our second policeman caller. Mr. Edward 'Ginger' Tudor who also worked out of Mr. Godfreyson's molly-houses and whom we had helped in the recent Regent's Canal Case, was now working part-time for Miss Bradbury. He grinned at the figure of John lying on the couch, still groaning after his recent 'attentions'.

“Miss Bradbury sends her regards”, he said depositing a brown folder on the table, “and I happened to run into Chief-inspector Henriksen at the station.”

I just looked at him. Impressively for so red a fellow he still managed to blush.

“He said that if there just happened to be a spare slice of cake available, I might be so good as to bring it to him?”

It was good that at least some things did not change. Besides, I had alerted Mrs. Singer earlier in the day to such a totally and utterly unforeseeable event so I had two slices of Victoria Sponge wrapped and ready, one each for the constable and the chief-inspector. Although I advised Ginger to eat his on the way, just in case. I knew Henriksen!

֍

“So is your annoying brother involved in this?” John asked, sitting carefully upright.

“In a roundabout way”, I said, not smirking at the fact that he found even the smallest movement painful. “His superior Mr. Keynes is retiring and Bacchus wishes to step up and take over the whole department. However he has a rival, his fellow second-in-command Mr. Quentin Jones. Not much better than my brother from what Miss Bradbury says, but Bacchus hopes that successfully dealing with this particular Irish problem will secure the top job for himself.”

“How will he deal with it?” John asked.

“By murdering Lord Fortescue.”

John looked at me in shock. I did not know why; after all this was Bacchus.

“I am sure that he must have discovered the connection between Peter O'Reilly and Lord Fortescue as well as the latter's familial link to Inspector Smith by now”, I said. “Indeed, the fact that he has not been round yet is a little surprising in itself.”

John stood up, letting out another plaintive cry before he covered the several miles between his chair and the window. 

“Not that surprising”, he sighed. “The pest is here right now. I _said_ that you should have let me order those man-traps!”

֍

I did listen out hopefully for rifle fire as my brother came up the stairs but alas, there was none. He entered as gracelessly as ever and scowled at us both. Which reminded me; I still needed to deliver that major payback for his recent behaviour over the late Mr. Alistair Campbell.

I perhaps should have felt ashamed that he clearly read my thoughts and looked visibly alarmed but then this was Bacchus, so no. Not a chance.

“You are involved in the disappearance of Lord Cholmondeley Fortescue”, the annoyance said abruptly.

“I have read of that gentleman”, I said dryly. “And you really should mind your manners, Bacchus. After recent events your standing with me is still deserving of a degree of punishment that I have not yet decided upon. Do not make me add to the ledger.”

John really should not have nodded eagerly at that point, but it was Bacchus so I let it slide.

“I am not the only person tasked with finding this fellow”, Bacchus said. “This is not a game, Sher.”

I narrowed my eyes at his use of the hated nickname. 

“Perhaps I had better talk to Father”, I said casually. “He said that after making you translate all Mother's 'best' works into French, it was only fair that the Russians and Germans should suff... enjoy them as well. And perhaps the French deserve a second helping....”

Bacchus had gone deathly pale.

“You would not dare!” he said hotly. “And when something does happen to Lord Fortescue, it will not be traceable to me.”

I just smiled at him.

“Nothing will happen to Lord Fortescue”, I said. “He will address the parliamentary committee on Wednesday and they will receive all the evidence that he has. I am tired of you, Bacchus. You may leave.”

“Sher....”

He stopped and gulped. He had seen my gun.

“You would not.....”

֍

I did. But I aimed to miss. This time.....

֍

“He would not seriously make an attempt on your life?” John asked once the pest was gone.

“He would not”, I agreed, “if only because Mother would kill him. Or worse, make him listen to all her stories and then kill him! But as they say, 'accidents' can happen.”

֍

The following day the two of us left Baker Street and travelled to Euston Station.

“Are you not worried that Bacchus or some other government stooge will have us followed?” John fretted.

It warmed me that he cared so much for me. Perhaps I would wait until later before revealing the pink panties I was wearing, otherwise the anticipation of what was to come (him, repeatedly) might kill him.

“It is rather amusing that men from Bacchus and his rival are both in cabs trailing us”, I said.

“Where are we going?” John asked. 

“To catch a special train which is booked to Liverpool”, I said. “I wish for Bacchus and his cronies to be of the impression that the nobleman is still there, not safely hidden away in the capital. Although according to our good friend Lowen he is more than enjoying his 'holiday'!”

John scowled at the mention of his least favourite Cornish ex-fisherman turned molly-man. Lowen – I could never think of him as Laurence and I knew that using his old name annoyed John even more – had come round last night and briefed us that Lord Fortescue was working his way through the men of the house very happily. And thoroughly; the nobleman had particularly enjoyed our friend Ginger who, Lowen had said, would be living up to his name and walking his beat rather gingerly today.

John had not been at all jealous of the handsome Cornishman's visit and had fucked me very thoroughly afterwards just to prove how not jealous he was. Twice. Which reminded me; I had to arrange for Lowen to make another 'chance visit' soon.

“I fixed for Bacchus and his rival to believe that Lord Fortescue has been seen over in Ireland”, I said, “presumably collecting more evidence for his meeting with the committee.”

“So why are we going north if he is not there?” John asked reasonably. I grinned.

“We are not”, I said. “The train will stop at Queen's Park Station to let us off, and fortunately that is not far from one of Mr. Godfreyson's many molly-houses where we will spend some time waiting for developments. Once our train leaves, Bacchus and his rival will both be telegraphing to their men up in Lancashire to deal with the train once they think that Lord Fortescue has boarded it. I have arranged with an actor friend of mine who looks like him to be waiting for the train at Liverpool so they will think that they have him.”

“But what can he do?” John asked.

“Bacchus is going to make this train crash.”

He stared at me in shock.

“Miss Bradbury has a mole in their department”, I said reassuringly, “and she knows all. Bacchus' men will ensure that what they think is Lord Fortescue's train crashes on the way back at Lymm.”

John shook his head at all this.

“Surely even your idiot brother would not be so stupid to make an attempt on your life after Lincolnshire?” he said.

“I also arranged for two actors disguised as us to reserve first-class tickets to Allonby so he will think that we are headed off to see Inspector Smith”, I said. “Bacchus will think it quite safe to derail the first train.”

“What would they have done if Lord Fortescue had used a normal train full of other passengers?” John wondered.

“Probably not have cared one jot”, I said dryly. “You know Bacchus.”

John began to smile.

“I wonder how your mother will take Bacchus doing this again”, he mused. 

“Presumably she will be able to make use of the new walking-stick that some kind and generous youngest son recently purchased for her”, I smiled. “It has a reinforced steel rod running all the way through it so it should serve its purpose well enough. Although I understand that they are now developing a model which contains a small rifle.”

֍

We were as I said to spend some little time at the molly-house in Kensal Green as we had to allow enough hours for the first special to reach Liverpool, collect my friend, deposit him at the first available station outside the Lancashire terminus and to then have its 'accident'. Still, time spent allowing John to divest me of panties was always time well spent. 

“One of my actor friends wired to Mother as me to say that we had all met in Liverpool and that we were taking the same train as him back to London”, I told him as he lay there gasping. 

He got it quite quickly, which was only fair as I had been the one getting it for the past few hours.

“She will assume that he has tried to kill you as well as than Lord Fortescue”. He said. “Oh dear.”

His lack of sincerity was both amusing and accurate. But as he could still talk and think, he clearly needed more of my attentions. And he got them.

֍


	3. Chapter 3

I was not surprised to see Mother's carriage waiting outside 221B when we returned. Mrs. Singer grinned at us knowingly as we walked up the stairs (John rather slowly; our landlady really might refrain from sniggering like that) and finally reached our rooms.

“My Sherry-werry-werry-werry-werry! I was so worried! You are safe!”

I was almost thrown back out of the doorway by my mother's embrace, but I still caught Bacchus standing behind her looking horribly guilty. As well he might; it must have made for an uncomfortable time for him to learn that the train had crashed and that there had been six hitherto unidentified bodies found in the wreckage (I had paid the local newspaper for that 'miscounting') rather than just presumably the driver, fireman, guard and Lord Fortescue. Naturally in this day and age the 'fake news' had already reached London.

“I am fine, Mother”, I gasped, relieved when she finally let me go. “The attempt on my life and that of Lord Fortescue has failed.”

“What attempt?” she asked, confused.

I fixed Bacchus with a stern look, catching him eyeing the door and clearly weighing up his options.

“A certain government functionary decided that Lord Fortescue should not give evidence to the parliamentary committee on the Kingsport scandal”, I told her. “They believed that I collected him in Liverpool and they deliberately derailed our special train in an attempt to kill us all.”

She frowned. 

“Who would do something that low-down and decei.....”

I could see the exact moment that she got it. When a certain sibling of mine was still at least six strides from the door.

_”Bac-chus!!!”_

They must have heard her in the Park half a mile away. It was arguably ever so slightly bad of John to 'accidentally' move to block the lounge-lizard's escape, as it gave Mother the opportunity to catch up with him and use her walking-stick – well as the song says, swing low.

֍

The following day Lord Fortescue gave his evidence to the committee. There were no further attempts to stop him after the government had been informed the previous evening that all the committee members had received and had time to read couriered copies of his evidence. Three members of the Cabinet had already left the country.

֍

Three days later we had a visitor at Baker Street. Inspector Chatton Smith limped into our rooms looking even more exhausted that he had the last time he had come. Even John had rarely looked that bad, although there was still time.

“I cannot believe it!” our visitor groaned. “The horny bastard came down to London because he said that he missed me so much and Chummy got into an argument with him because Fray has never, you know. Played batsman.”

I smiled at the euphemism.

“I trust that they sorted it like grown men, though”, I said.

He looked at me, clearly horrified.

“Chummy said that Fray did not know what he had been missing out on”, he said, shaking slightly. “I have never... I mean, with Fray it just seemed wrong somehow.”

I blushed slightly at that, not for our visitor but for the reminder that I had 'batted' for some two years once John and my relationship had reached that level before the shock of my vile ex-brother Ranulph's attack had changed things.

“Chummy can be so damn persistent when he wants something”, the inspector said. “And he can do that 'woe is me!' look as if he is the most put-upon fellow in human existence!”

John coughed for some reason. I looked sharply at him. If he was going to come out with any comment I might consider even remotely snarky, there would most definitely be Consequences later.

“And then he reminded me that I had had Rod and Rourke take me at the same time”, our visitor sighed. “And I would never have thought someone as manly as Fray would go for it but he was clearly eager so.... so we did it! Thank the Lord that Chummy had the foresight to gag him; even through that he was still loud! And he said he definitely wanted his own 'Sioux Sandwich' again, and soon!”

I smiled at John's evident discomfiture at that image.

“Chummy is coming to live with us in Cumberland”, the inspector said. “I did fear.... you know, what with his looks and money, but before we did anything he insisted that he would never come between us.”

John scowled as he caught me looking far too thoughtful at all this. Of course I would never have considered bringing anyone else into our relationship, but there were certain very attractive men – my friends Lowen and Mr. Benjamin Jackson-Giles sprang to mind – who always riled John when they looked at me for too long. But on the other hand a riled John was a wonderful thing even if my backside disagreed with that. Frantically.

We were interrupted by a knock at the door and a familiar gentlemen almost ran into the room. Mr. Fraser Macdonald was much as I remembered him, a very solid six foot plus hunk of humanity looking anxiously for a lover who must have been away from him for at most an hour. He was forty-nine at this time but he had clearly not allowed retirement to get to him, looking as hugely muscular as he had the last time that we had seen him. hurried over to pull Inspector Smith into his arms and held him for at least a minute before remembering his social graces and greeting us.

“I missed you so much, Chas”, the older man rumbled kissing the shorter man's hair. 

The inspector was clearly close to tears at all this affection. I knew from his words that given his cousin's advantages in looks and wealth Inspector Smith must have indeed feared..... well, much what I knew John being older than me feared from time to time although he never said as much. But Mr. Macdonald clearly only had eyes for his lover and no-one else. It was so romantic.

The older policeman looked at us hopefully.

“I do not suppose you would mind lending us a room for....”

His lover poked him.

“You are so bad!” Inspector Smith sighed.

“I intend to be!” Mr. Macdonald grinned wolfishly. “All the way home!”

The two thanked us for our help and actually had to edge sideways to get through the door as the taller man clearly had no intention of releasing his prize.

“Three men in a bed”, I smiled. “And talking of attractive men that reminds me; Lowen is coming round later today.....”

I stopped. John looked _murderous!_

“But in the meantime, perhaps we might spend a morning here just sitting quietly together.....”

֍

Reader, we did rather more than 'just sitting quietly together'. Although John still glared at our visitor later that day despite the room reeking of sexually satisfied male, a very sexually satisfied male called Mr. Sherlock Castiel Holmes. And even better, once the Cornishman had gone a clearly not jealous John fucked me hard yet again!

Bacchus was not released from hospital for another two weeks. And he had to spend that time and the following month transcribing a whole load of Mother's stories into French, Russian and German! I would have said how sorry I was for all that he was suffering but..... oh come on! Besides, as things turned out he was, incredibly even for him, not that far away from making a dire situation even worse.

֍


End file.
